


a laugh like a god's

by thearsenicwaltz



Series: gods & monsters [1]
Category: Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: -Ish, Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Book 4: Queen of Shadows, Developing Relationship, Drabble, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, Misunderstandings, horny but like emotionally horny, lysaelin - relationship - Freeform, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:14:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21542833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thearsenicwaltz/pseuds/thearsenicwaltz
Summary: Celaena Sardothien has returned to Rifthold.And fortunately so, because Lysandra has some unfinished business with her childhood rival.
Relationships: Aelin Ashryver Galathynius | Celaena Sardothien/Lysandra, Lysandra & Aelin Ashryver Galathynius | Celeana Sardothien
Series: gods & monsters [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1548502
Comments: 5
Kudos: 30





	a laugh like a god's

**Author's Note:**

> LYSAELIN NATION WHERE WE AT !!!!!!!
> 
> Hello, my fellow people ! Here's 9000 something words of me projecting and being soft for these two, I hope you enjoy xo 
> 
> Disclaimer: This is basically just an extremely gayed up, overly analysed version of qos told from Lysandra's pov, so like caution for the spoilers !! Also disclaiming: english isn't my first language so basically i have no idea what the hell im doing so when y'all eventually roast me for it...pls. be gentle.
> 
> That is all. Thank u

The first time Lysandra sees Celaena, it’s very unlike anything she had in mind for their so called 'reunion'.

For the burning of the anger she remembers feeling for the woman standing before her in the past, so clearly and so strongly that it was pure agony, never comes. Not an ember of that searing fire lights up in her, not even as icy blue eyes flash in the dark of the dimly lit alley and Celaena Sardothien cocks her head, in that arrogant way of hers that she typically does and snarls, teeth-bared and all, “Start explaining, or you’ll be food for the rats.”

Lysandra knows that Celaena Sardothien has a big mouth. Lysandra also knows that while Celaena Sardothien does have a big mouth, there are few threats and promises that she has ever failed to fulfil.

So, she makes to lower her hood, all the while painfully aware of Evangeline’s eyes on her back, watching her every move - all the while painfully aware, that her whole plan may very well fail right here and now, as she reveals her face and draws in breath, “I came to warn you.”

It comes out a lot shakier than she intents and Lysandra curses herself for it. You'd think that she of all people should know by now to not to let the fear show. You'd think, especially when it came to Celaena, that she'd know better than that.

Apparently not.

Thankfully, it seems that Celaena’s also lacking the hatred once so prominent in her features whenever Lysandra was involved and in replacement of it, there’s nothing but surprise – maybe a small amount of wonder, too.

And even as Celaena seems to realize who it is exactly that’s standing there and her face morphs into a vicious grin, (one expression that Lysandra’s more than a little familiar with), she can tell it’s nothing but the ashes of the flames that once burned so fervently.

It’s more for show, than anything else, the way her voice drips sweet venom as she drawls, “As far as memory serves me, Lysandra, I warned you that if I ever saw you again, I’d kill you.”

And oh yes, Lysandra remembers. Vividly.

And oh, how she has waited for the reminder. How she has waited to feel that rush of that electricity, that fire that crackles through her veins, how she has yearned to see it mirrored in Celaena for all these months. She’s missed it, missed these moments.

These kind of moments, when Celaena's mask cracks and the tiniest glimpse of the beast that hides itself within her skin (Lysandra doesn't know what it is - what she should call it, if it's anything like her, if it's nothing like her, she doesn't know: she does know that it exists and that it's there and that it's absolutely terrifying and thrilling at the same time) comes to the light and shows itself. She used to love catching glimpses of it: it felt like an achievement, like a win of some sort to her younger self. She used to imagine that she was the only one who could make Celaena make faces like that – the only one who could draw her it out like that.

Now though, she doesn’t need to imagine: she knows, from the way Celaena’s staring her down, the way she drawls her name, like she's nothing but another one of her targets, nothing but another weak prey to be hunted, to meet its demise on the tip of Celaena’s knife.

She knows that that’s something only she could receive – and all though it’s nothing but an echo of the way it used to be, it’s still for _her_.

For Lysandra.

It’s good to know that some things truly never changed. But alas, Lysandra herself isn’t one of those things: no, she’s changed.

She just hopes that Celaena has, too. She just hopes that the ashes remain ashes.

“ _Please_.”

(As it turns out, the one thing that hasn’t changed about Celaena is, you guessed it, her hero complex.)

-

The second time they cross paths, Lysandra is a tad bit bothered.

A tad bit bothered by the way Celaena's blue eyes cling to her every move, down to the tiniest shrug of shoulders, a flick of a finger, even - it's not like it's something unusual, she's used to having eyes on her, hell, she's used to having Celaena's eyes on her in particular, Celaena’s always been watching her and she's always been watching Celaena, after all.

Keep your friends close and your enemies closer, and so on and so on.

But of course, just when she thinks that it's not entirely intolerable, that maybe this whole 'talking it out'- thing could work after all, Celaena opens that big mouth of hers.

“The Lysandra I knew used to wear far less clothing.”

Lysandra's never, ever in her life been so glad for her years of working where she’s working – it’s only thanks to that she manages to hold herself from re-visiting the past and decking Celaena right in her face.

She’s very, very tempted to, that’s for sure. Especially when Celaena herself had resorted to such things, and to what ends? Was she not the one who send word for Lysandra to come see her in the first place? How did it make any sense for Celaena to even try and start shit, especially if she had no second agenda, something that she wished to keep hidden but still in plain sight and- oh.

It clicks way later than it should’ve.

Celaena wanted to know where she stood. Wanted to know if still, after all this time, she was still playing Arobynn’s little lapdog, his puppet on a string. She likely just wasn't sure how to approach the subject without making it obvious and alerting Lysandra in case she was indeed, still, bound by their once shared ‘mentor’.

Lysandra can't really find it in herself to be pissed: she supposes it's only fair that she should answer the question of whether she had changed, seeing as Celaena's answer was already clear.

She had read Wesley's letter, after all.

So, fair play and all that, she tells Celaena the truth. “The Lysandra you knew died a long time ago.”

The Lysandra Celaena knew… the Lysandra that once raced her for Arobynn’s attention and time was indeed dead. That girl started crumbling the night she got sold off to Arobynn at the age of 18.

That girl took her final breath the night Wesley died.

So, to answer to Celaena’s unspoken question: no.

No, she wasn’t Arobynn’s puppet; she never would be again. She would snap every last one of those strings that bound her to him, that bound her to this life of sucking up to bastards like him.

And to have Celaena back, freshly returned to Rifthold, already calling in old debts and promises (if what Lysandra had hear of her wreaking havoc in the town was indeed true), was an excellent change to do just that.

Celaena leans back in her chair, observing her for a moment, as if trying to pinpoint what she might be thinking about. And then something completely unheard of, at least to Lysandra's ears, happens.

She apologizes.

Celaena fucking Sardothien apologizes. Says she’s sorry, sorry for the pain, for any part she might've played in it. For anyway that she might’ve made it worse for her. And she seems… desperate, almost. Like she needs to be forgiven.

Lysandra’s not sure if she’s ever seen Celaena like that. She’s not sure she’s ever heard her apologize for anything, much less both apologize and actually mean it.

It is a little flattering. It certainly makes her feel some type of way, to witness the infamous Adarlan’s assassin like this, to get to see what things like ‘anxiety’ and ‘worry’ look on Celaena’s face, what kind of expressions those kinds of feelings paint. It’s ..new.

Lysandra’s intrigued. She wonders if there’s any more faces like that, emotions like that. If there’s anything more that Celaena could show her – better yet, show _solely_ to her. She wants to know.

So, she decides to give way. “We were both young and stupid and should have seen each other as allies. But there’s nothing to prevent us from seeing each other that way now”, she declares and after some thought adds in: “If you’re in, I’m in.”

Celaena looks so utterly relieved and- there it is. Yet another face that Lysandra has so rarely seen her make.

“I’m in”, she finally answers, her voice dry and cracking in the middle, as if she hadn’t used it in a while.

Lysandra tries her best to show as little of her glee as possible.

-

The next time they see each other, it’s quite literally a ‘Lysandra sees Celaena’ kind of situation. Or maybe it would be more accurate to say, the next time ‘Lysandra sees Aelin’ kind of situation.

At the very least, it’s the kind of situation, where Lysandra, for once, finds herself completely and utterly speechless.

Celaena – no, Aelin, isn’t doing any better, opening and closing her mouth, like she wants to say something, like she wants to explain. Only nothing comes out. Lysandra can’t really blame her. It wasn’t like she would’ve had anything that smart to say, had she been in Aelin’s place, had it been her identity, her heritage brought to the spotlight here.

Finally, Aelin manages a start, “My name is- “

Lysandra cuts in, “Oh, I do know what your real name is, Aelin.”

Because...come on. It's so blatantly obvious that she has to wonder how no one's figured it out before, hell, how she herself has never figured it out before this day. She did know, had known that yes, there was something quite peculiar about Celaena Sardothien, had to be for Arobynn to have been treating her like he had in their childhood, had to be for Lysandra to have felt that strange surge of electricity whenever she looked at those blue eyes rimmed with gold.

But to think that those eyes... those strange, wonderful but oh so strange eyes that burnt with a fire that sang, _called_ , to the beast in Lysandra’s skin, that still, even now were pulling her towards Terrasen's long lost queen were the eyes of the Ashryver's all along, it was absurd.

And still, it makes perfect sense. Aelin being..well, Aelin makes sense.

And it also makes Lysandra seriously question her perception skills.

Aelin's not looking much wiser than Lysandra’s feeling, jaw hanging and those blue-gold eyes wide like saucers. She looks like the reality of it, of her being found out, is a punch in the face, a physical blow. She looks wild with desperation, as she stumbles to explain, claims it changes nothing, claims she knows Lysandra. Says she didn’t mean for her to find out like this.

And of course, Lysandra understands.

And it’s not like she’s wrong either, because she does know Lysandra, knows her in a way she’s not sure she’s ever allowed anyone else to know her before, in a way she’s not sure anyone else _could_ ever know her if they tried.

But to have it thrown in her face, that she didn’t know Aelin like that, hadn’t known her like that though she had thought so it makes her feel…bitter, in a way that she can’t quite explain.

It feels like she’s lost something, like they were playing a game.

Like one of the games from their childhood.

It feels like the knife that Aelin threw so long ago has finally hit it’s mark.

But as she regards Aelin, that feeling takes the backseat, for there's a very, very familiar look on her face.

An expression of desperation, desperation for reassurance, for acceptance. Desperation to be loved despite of who she was, _what_ she was.

And just like that, it doesn’t matter anymore, what names they carry. Whether it's Celaena and Lysandra or Aelin and Lysandra, it doesn't matter. Because no matter the name, they are still the same.

Beasts wearing human skins, so Lysandra had said to Aelin.

She doesn't bother with putting it to words for a second time, only shrugs, slightly amused as she wonders out loud the similarity of Aelin and Aedion and how in the fucking Wyrdth no one had made the connection before. And, just for the laughs, and maybe just a little bit because Aelin still looks like that and she doesn’t want to see it because it feels too much like looking in the mirror and she doesn’t want to spend any more time thinking about what hell that might mean, Lysandra winks at her friend and laughs, “Even though he’s a handsome bastard, it’d be like I was kissing you.”

Aelin blinks and for a good minute and a half, Lysandra is convinced that there’s a flush on her cheeks. And she feels that spark, that fire and electricity run through her veins all over again because now, that’s a face she’s definitely never seen before.

And it’s almost better than anger.

But it’s gone before Lysandra’s had the time to truly appreciate it for what it is and then Aelin’s sticking her tongue out in disgust and whining about how ‘that was something she did not need to know, thank you very much’ and it’s back to all too familiar ground, again.

Lysandra would’ve been lying if she said she wasn’t disappointed.

But it does pay itself back when Aelin sighs, sounding resigned and seemingly dropping the act. “I don’t know why I was ever nervous you would start bowing and scraping.”

Lysandra finds herself intrigued once again. There’s honesty there in those words, no tricks, no smoke and mirrors like it usually is with them, and it’s very much new.

And it is…kind of nice, too.

And because it is those things, Lysandra lets herself be a little more honest, too and grins, teasing, “Where would be the fun in that?”

-

The next time they end up meeting, it leaves Lysandra with a headache.

She's known Aelin to be on the kind of mood that makes her difficult to say no to since the moment she stepped into their unofficial headquarters earlier that day.

You see, there was a certain…air about the queen, whenever there was something she wanted, something she wished to acquire. She has a habit of staring, in the kind of way that more often than not convinces Lysandra that if not for the absence of magic on this continent, she would've been radiating it.

Lysandra considers that face beautiful, fascinating. She often considers what it would look like if it were to be touched by those flames that she had heard so much about and nine times out of ten concludes that it would be just as beautiful, if not more than the face that the queen is currently making.

It is and it would be beautiful. If only it wasn't directed at Lysandra.

Because as beautiful as it was to look and admire, when you yourself had to bear it, it's...not that it's different, it’s just a lot. It’s a lot, that’s the only way Lysandra can think to describe it, really.

She’s noticed, that when it comes to Aelin, everything always seems to be ten times as explosive and intense as it usually is, and every emotion and every sensation is almost too much to bear and being on receiving end of it especially, sucks and sucks deep.

And that's why Lysandra finds herself nearly sprinting out, for the first time in her life glad that she has lunch appointment in a few. Or at least, tries to sprint out.

But as always, things are never that easy. Not with Aelin in the picture. “How much longer – until you’re free of your debts?”

Lysandra freezes, the question stopping her on her tracks. She’s not so sure she wants to, she’s not sure if she wants to hear whatever more it is that Aelin has to say, wants to see whatever new kind of emotion there is on the queen’s face this time.

It’s too new, it makes her too expectant and too nervous and if she didn’t know any better, Lysandra would’ve said she was afraid. Afraid of..nothing concrete really, just …afraid in a way that made her want to sprint out of there as fast as her legs could carry her and never look back if it meant that she wouldn’t have to go further down this path.

“Not for a long time, probably”, she answers, despite all of this, despite every cell in her body screaming at her to just go. “Clarisse keeps upping the amount of money I owe her as Evangeline grows. Claims that a beautiful girl like her would be worth more the older she grew.”

“That’s disgusting. That woman is disgusting.”

Lysandra agrees. Still, she merely shrugs, raising her arm, where that cursed serpent is seared into her flesh, curling around her arm like a chain. Showing it off for Aelin to see. “What can I do? They’d hunt me to the edge of the world, and I can’t run, not with Evangeline with me.”

She surrendered herself to this life, to a life of eternal lunch meetings, a life of leering men and women. She chose to grit her teeth and bear it just for a little while longer, all for Evangeline. She won’t pretend that it's the best choice she’s ever made, but it had still been a choice, regardless.

Something tells her that Aelin probably understands what it's like to make a choice like that, so she says nothing further.

There's a brief pause.

Then, Aelin breaks the silence. “I could dig Clarisse a grave no one would ever discover."

Lysandra can’t hold herself back anymore and turns around.

And there’s Aelin, conviction in her eyes and grim determination on her face. And it’s evident in her tone and that look that she means it, that she’s not merely saying it for the sake of saying it: she’s making a promise.

She would bury Clarisse and she would bury her deep, somewhere not even Arobynn could find her from.

She would do all of that, if Lysandra asked and she would put in motion here and now.

She would play the role of Celaena Sardothien for this, if only Lysandra needed her to.

Lysandra’s amazed. She reckons it’s probably not the sort of thing one is supposed to find comfort in, killing and all, but to her, it does just that.

It’s a reminder of sorts, too, that though this woman rattles her, confuses her, _intrigues_ her in a way Celaena Sardothien never did and never would have, she is still, in some ways, the same as she used to be. She is, still, Celaena as much as she is Aelin.

It’s a relief, a relief that eats away that uneasiness and hyper nervousness in her chest.

It’s also pleasant, the thought of having options laid out for her like that, to know that though she does still plan on walking her own path, it’s not the only option.

It's both pleasant and relieving, to know that there is a plan B. Or maybe plan A would be more accurate, in this case.

Lysandra smiles slightly at herself and tells the said plan A, ”Not yet – not now.”

“One word from you and I’ll do it.”

And that’s a promise, too, spoken without any hesitation – and oh, how it makes Lysandra grin at Aelin, wicked and wild.

And Aelin grins back.

-

The next time Lysandra sees Aelin, or maybe it would more accurate to say, the next time Aelin sees Lysandra, it’s in the aftermath of a big storm.

It’s there that Lysandra finds herself following Aelin's example and showing her something that she very rarely shows to anyone else: honesty. “You’re not…mad that I didn’t tell you?” she asks.

Aelin shakes her head, smiling faintly. “Your secret could get you killed just as easily as mine, Lysandra. I just felt…”, she pauses, as if looking for words, “..I don’t know. If anything, I wondered if I’d done something wrong, something to make you not to trust me enough to tell me.”

Lysandra feels just a little bit bad. She’d known that Aelin of all people would understand, of course. She'd known she would, from the moment that Aelin had been Aelin to her.

But..well, she supposes it’s the same reason why Aelin hadn’t been Aelin to her sooner. She had just been a little too afraid, a little too desperate to hold on to what they had built (whatever it was) that she couldn’t bear the thought of losing it.

She couldn’t bear the thought of losing Aelin, simply put.

“I wanted to tell you – I’ve been dying to”, she confesses.

It says enough, but not too much of the truth. She has a feeling she doesn’t need to tell Aelin anyways, they both know it well enough, this kind of fear.

And Aelin only smiles, in a way that tells Lysandra that yes, she does. “I know.”

“I knew you would.”

Silence falls.

Lysandra knows her carriage is waiting. She knows Aelin’s court is waiting for her upstairs - that _Rowan_ is waiting for her upstairs and yet she can’t bring herself to take a single step. And neither does Aelin.

Lysandra eventually breaks the silence, she's the one it's being prolonged for, after all. “Did you mean it? When you said you’d be jealous of a shape-shifter’s powers?”

It’s a meaningless question. Or maybe it would be that if it was anyone else asking it, anyone else who was being asked. But maybe it’s because they both know that none of the conditions are met that Aelin steps a bit closer, just a tiny bit closer than she needs to be in the quiet dark of the street and tells it as it is, as always. “I meant every word. I truly did."

Lysandra finds that it does actually scare her, to hear that kind of thing, to have it spelt out into the open like that.

To have Aelin so close, it scares her.

Aelin makes a face that tells Lysandra she knows exactly what's running through her head. “I’d never turn my back on you, Lysandra. Ever.”

And it’s something so private, something so vulnerable, the way Aelin speaks her name, as if she’s truly something important. It speaks volumes.

It should and it does and yet, because she is and will always be, well, Lysandra, she has to ask, “Wouldn’t you?”

And she knows, she’s well aware of how near desperate she's starting to come across as right now, but she can't help it because it's- she wants to believe, to trust in her friend but it’s so fucking difficult, so hard to think that she might- that Aelin might-

“Never. I swear on my kingdom, on my crown."

Lysandra looks up at Aelin, (she’s few inches taller, the bastard) her answer pulling her away from her thoughts.

There’s not a hint of hesitation in those words, not a shadow of doubt in that face. She means it.

And yet, she can’t quite help herself, her voice taking on a sneering note as she purrs, “How ambitious of you to swear oaths on what you’ve yet to possess, _Aelin_.”

It’s the exact same tone and voice that she used when she told Aelin that Arobynn had used her money to – well, buy her for that night all those months ago. It’s the exact same tone and voice that almost cost her her own ear.

Because she wants to see that anger again, because she _needs_ to see it: Lysandra doesn’t know why, doesn’t know why it scares her so much to have- well, whatever this is between them replace it, but she needs to see it, just to make sure, that it’s not better.

But as it stands, the last time she did see it was indeed months ago.

And so, Aelin only makes a strange, strange face, and all the alarm bells in Lysandra’s head go off at once. “You might be right”, she admits, “but you see, if it was destined to be mine from the start, I might as well let go of any prudence’s I might’ve otherwise had, _Lysandra_.”

As she says those words, she gently, ever so gently and carefully takes Lysandra’s hand in hers, as if she would break it if she wasn’t careful with and gives it what is probably meant to be a comforting squeeze.

And somehow Lysandra knows that those words are a promise of something greater, something bigger.

(And she’d be lying if she said that didn’t scare the living shits out of her.)

-

The next time Aelin appears before Lysandra, she only sees a ghost, a shadow of her friend dancing in the back of her mind like it has done all day, with flashes of blonde hair, blue eyes and her intoxicating scent, her soft cheek that she (in her formality) had kissed earlier that night.

The next time after that kiss that was barely even a kiss that Lysandra opens her eyes without Aelin somewhere in her field of vision, she’s lying next to Arobynn and the knife hidden under her pillow burns, burns despite how cold she knows the metal to be.

Three little words. That was what Aelin had given her, earlier tonight.

 _He’s all yours_.

Such a gift that she offered to Lysandra on a silver platter. Or rather, on the blade of a silvery knife.

Aelin really knew how to charm a lady.

Lysandra smiles to herself, a hand over her mouth to avoid making any sound at all, any noise that might alert Arobynn of the fact that yes, she was awake and yes, more than capable of slitting his throat right here and now. She looks over his sleeping form. Not even a flinch.

And without remorse, without any sort of guilt in her heart, with only the lust for revenge, she draws out the cold knife from underneath her pillow. She would end it here, tonight. For herself, for Wesley, for Sam, for Aelin. For all of them. 

And she would, without hesitation, enjoy every bloody second of it.

-

Somewhere, in the streets surrounding the Assassin’s Keep, Aelin Galathynius stands, eyes locked in the direction of Arobynn's quarters in the building, wishing she could transform just for the benefit of seeing and hearing what was going on in there.

Just for the benefit of knowing if Lysandra was okay.

Hell, she would’ve shed her human skin in front of the king of Adarlan himself if that’s what it took. She’s never hated, _loathed_ the absence of her magic more than in this very moment. She’s tugged out of her thoughts when a clear whistle sounds.

It’s the signal, the one from Chaol. _Lysandra’s okay,_ it tells. _Everything went as planned._

Aelin Galathynius turns and walks away.

-

One of the many following encounters between them ends up being a ray of daylight after what feels like years of darkness.

At least, to Lysandra, that’s what it feels like.

The lock on the prison wagon carriage breaks with a click and the doors slam open and for a moment, Lysandra’s heart jumps to her throat.

But alas, it is not the king’s men, not the valg – it’s Aelin Galathynius and Lysandra swears she has never looked so beautiful, so bright as in that moment. 

She came for her. Aelin came for her.

She- they didn’t leave her.

Lysandra springs up before Aelin has even given the order to move, already anticipating it and stumbles her way to safety, fast as she can in her state. She doesn’t look back, not when she hears blades clicking and the familiar sounds of battle – she runs until she finds herself collapsed in the bushes and then there’s someone kneeling next to her.

It's Chaol. He’s rigid, seemingly nervous, but he stays there beside her, examining her wounds, her injuries. Once in a while she flinches and he apologizes, reassures her that everything’s okay, that she’s made it and they’re safe. For now.

That last part isn’t something he mentions out loud, but Lysandra knows, she knows time is a luxury that they don’t have today.

She knows that they don’t, she does and yet, when the bush rustles and Aelin busts through the others at her heel, she can’t help reaching out, reaching for her.

And as if by some invisible command, Aelin drops on her knees before her and reaches back, taking her hand in hers.

Lysandra sighs, closes her eyes just for a second and relishes in the warmth that is Aelin and the fire that seeks home in her veins, allows herself to take in all that she is. All that makes Aelin.

Then there’s a squeeze on her hand, firm but gentle and Aelin whispers a question to her. “Are you okay?”

Lysandra opens her eyes. She came for her; she didn’t leave her. She could’ve, she didn’t have to come, she didn’t have to care about someone like Lysandra, didn’t have to risk the lives of herself and her court for someone like Lysandra. And yet she did.

And now she's here, Aelin's here, clutching Lysandra's hands in hers with what feels like too much and not enough force all at once and asking her if she's okay and so, so close and not close enough-

“She’s fine”, someone speaks out for her. Chaol.

For once, Lysandra is grateful that the Captain always has shit to say, be it his business to say it or not. She doesn't think she could speak up, that she could explain everything that had happened, everything she was feeling right now if she tried.

Aelin doesn’t seem to agree, glaring at Chaol in a way that clearly spells out ‘I asked her, not you’. But she, too, seems to recognize that they don’t have time for this right now, that they need to move.

So, she only squeezes Lysandra’s hand in hers once more.

Lysandra finds herself staring at those eyes, blue and rimmed with gold, those eyes that she never thought she’d see again. It’s reassuring, that they’re still stable and still the same, with that same promise, promise of not letting anything happen to her. And Lysandra doesn’t say it, but she hopes that Aelin knows it goes both ways.

That as much as she was Aelin’s to protect, Aelin was hers to protect.

She squeezes Aelin’s hand back and hopes it's enough to convey the message.

-

The next time they have an off change to actually talk, that daylight that Lysandra thought Aelin to be proves itself to be false.

She hears her before she sees her. Hears heavy steps climb up from the stairs, from downstairs where Rowan was still resting. And when she steps into the light, Lysandra's heart drops.

Aelin looks exhausted, dead tired. Her eyes are dull and surrounded by dark circles, probably result of a night shift spent by Rowan's bedside. Her wounds appeared to still be without care, cuts and bruises decorating her beautiful face and her blonde hair is messy, tangled with what was without a doubt the dried blood of her opponent (or hers: Lysandra takes a wild guess that it's probably both).

And that fear, that dread that Lysandra had felt for her in that valley when she saw that arrow fly, when she heard that piercing scream, comes flooding back. She can't stand it.

So, she whips up a friendly grin, in a sorry attempt to lighten up the mood. "You look like shit."

Aelin stops on her tracks, hands shooting up to her face as if only now realizing the state she was in. "I- sorry, I didn't think to- sorry", she stumbles across her words, one second looking at Lysandra and then away.

Something tells Lysandra that she's not solely apologizing for looking like shit.

And just like that, the mood is even more grim than before and Lysandra decides that she's never trying that approach again, for as much as Aelin does in fact, look like shit, she now feels like shit.

So, she dismisses Aelin's attempted apology and shakes her head. "I should be the one to say that. You all risked your lives for me and-", she hesitates, trying to find the right words, "now he's lying down there, god knows when he'll get back on his feet and you- hell, you look even worse than him."

Aelin only huffs. "Don't be stupid. I'd never blame any of this on you."

"But I-"

" _Don't_ ", and Aelin sounds so tired and so, so worn.

"Aelin."

The queen looks at her, really looks at her for the first time since entering.

And somehow, it's only now that Lysandra sees the slight puffing around her eyes, sees the redness and comes to the next conclusion: she's been crying.

Lysandra upgrades from feeling like shit to feeling like utter shit, just like that. "I just want you to know that I'm sorry. You were there, he was there because you came for me and if he wasn't there you would've -I mean, if I hadn't been there, he would’ve never ended up like that”, she tries to lighten that obvious burden on Aelin’s shoulders, tries to make it so that blame would be anyone else’s.

She’d take it, if it meant that Aelin wouldn’t look so miserable and tired.

The said woman watches her intently, hanging onto every word, and once she's finished, only hums under her breath. "You do know that by that logic it'd technically be my fault for leading Rowan and everyone else there?"

Lysandra frowns. "That's not what I-"

"I know."

Lysandra's frown deepens.

Aelin smiles, though it’s only slight and barely there. "No, I do. You don't have to blame yourself. I don't, and neither does he, you know."

Lysandra swallows. She knows that Aelin wouldn't, knows that even if her court did, she'd put a stop to it. She knows. She just wishes the queen wouldn’t blame herself, either. 

"But I almost cost you your..", she trails off, frowns again when she realizes that she doesn’t know what Aelin almost lost yesterday.

Or rather, who.

And suddenly, Aelin's looking at her and it's that intense, burning look again and oh, it makes Lysandra want to dig herself underground and run, run far way if only to never have to bear it again.

"My what?"

She’s _demanding_ an answer, not asking.

But it’s an answer that Lysandra doesn't have, an answer that she doesn't know. She doesn’t know what it is that Rowan is to Aelin, much less what Aelin is to Rowan. She tells Aelin as much. "I ..don't know.”

"Ask me."

"Ask you what?"

Aelin fixes her with an unimpressed stare. As if to say, ‘you know what’.

And Lysandra sighs, giving way.

It’d be no use trying to lie to her, that much was obvious.

And it wasn’t like she didn’t want to ask, either. It was just that the she..was more than a little afraid of what the answer might be.

She was more than a little afraid of what Aelin might see Rowan Whitethorn as, of what her face might look like when she spoke to him, and if there were faces she made that were solely for his eyes and his eyes only.

But it is the not knowing, that’s the worst of it.

So Lysandra pushes back her fears and asks, "What is he to you?"

A self-satisfied smile crosses Aelin's face. "Rowan", she starts,” is a lot of things, to me. He was there when no one else was, with me." She pauses, briefly. "You could say that he... saved me, in a way. He made me want to live. "

And for a moment, all the confidence she had lapses and Lysandra feels all her fears collapsing on her, all of it coming flooding back. For just a moment, she's afraid that maybe all those gentle touches, maybe all those promises…maybe she read too much into all of it, all of them.

"So, uh. he’s a lot of things”, Aelin finally continues and the look on her face is so, so fond when she does. And then she looks straight at Lysandra, that expression unchanging. “But you... you're the only person who’s ever- the only one who's ever made me feel like this."

Aelin clutches her chest, as if to hold her own heart together when she says those words, and Lysandra almost, almost wants to tell her to shut up, to not go any further into the unknown than they already are because it isn't- it shouldn't be-

"I love you."

Something inside Lysandra’s chest shatters. And before she's even aware of it, there's tears, tears flowing down her face and once again, she's left helpless before this terrifying, beautiful woman who- _loves her_ , holy gods, loves _her_.

And it is just that. It’s beautiful, for every bit that it’s terrifying - it gives that fear deep in her bones a form, a meaning: love.

It’s impossible, at the very least it should be impossible for such a thing to exist in her still, after all those years of in her line of work. It should be a meaningless word, one blurred by ulterior motives and desires. How many times had she heard those words before the very person uttering them laid their hands on her, with the very intent to hurt? How many times had she been told that she was loved, only for it to be nothing more than a superficial tool to be used against her?

It should be impossible, for such a thing to exist, much less for it to be true. It should and yet Lysandra cannot bring herself to discount Aelin's words.

"I- I.....", and there's nothing else to say, nothing else that comes out of her mouth after that.

Nothing else, though there are so many things that she wants Aelin to know, that she wants to tell her, but-

Then the old wooden floor creaks as Aelin closes the distance between them, and then she’s there again, too close, almost. So close.

And just like that, Lysandra’s forgotten whatever it was that she was supposed to say.

Aelin smiles down at her, a gentle, fond smile. "You don't have to say anything", she reassures – and then she's leaning in, hands cradling Lysandra’s face as if to kiss her and Lysandra makes the quick decision that she can’t take it, can’t look at those burning eyes while she does so and squeezes her eyes shut.

And waits.

And waits.

And then there’s a feather light touch, barely even a kiss placed onto her forehead. She melts into it (it’s a forehead kiss. a kiss on the forehead for fucks sake get it together Lys, she chides herself), melts into Aelin and it’s warm and comforting and it’s- it’s _home_.

And for a while they stay like that, and Lysandra swears that there’s only them in the world and no one else.

Finally, she wills herself to bust that bubble and lays her palms over Aelin's, where they're still cradling her cheeks. Tries to cover them, those rough, scarred hands that despite their appearance, their rough-exterior, touch her with such gentleness, as if she could shield them from any further injury, as if she could prevent them for being scarred more than they already were.

She wishes she could. She wishes she could protect Aelin, from all of this.

"I...was afraid”, she admits, and it’s as much of a confession to herself as it is to Aelin. "I was afraid I'd lose you."

Aelin stays quiet.

Lysandra feels just a bit bad, but it's as close as she can get. As close to 'I care for you' or 'I love you' as she can get right now.

She hopes Aelin won't hold it against her. Not that she'd blame her, even Lysandra herself certainly does, when Aelin’s looking at her like that - like she’s the most precious thing in the whole world, her fingers carefully drawing patterns on to Lysandra’s skin, as if memorizing her features and- it's indescribable, the way Lysandra's heart aches.

And then Aelin confesses, in a soft whisper, "I was, too.”

Lysandra swears that for a minute, her heart stops beating.

"I was so, so afraid. When Evangeline came running to us...god, there's so many things, you know. So many things that I've seen and done in my life that scare me, frighten me”, Aelin goes on, and her voice is awfully soft – so soft that Lysandra doesn’t quite know what to do with herself. "There's so many things that I’m afraid of, but none of them compare to the thought that I might lose you."

Lysandra feels like her legs might give out any second. Some courtesan she was.

She laughs softly, though it just comes out shaky. "I guess that means we are the same, after all.”

Aelin exhales, in what to Lysandra’s ears sounds like relief. And then she steps away and lets go of Lysandra.

And Lysandra almost lets out a confused, disappointed sound aching to a whine, but catches herself just in time. Now that would've been embarrassing.

Aelin only smiles, in a way that suggests she knows exactly what Lysandra's thinking about and it's infuriating to say the least.

But before the she can complain, Aelin shuffles through her jacket pockets and fishes out what appears to be a letter, swinging it at her. "I actually have something, for you", she specifies.

Lysandra quirks a perfectly picked brow. "What is it?” she asks, genuinely curious, taking the sealed envelope from Aelin and observing it, carefully.

"Open it."

Lysandra does. And her jaw drops. "Wait- what the hell is this?"

The sigil on the letter is Clarisse's.

Aelin only grins. “Read it.”

She glances to Aelin, then back to the letter, and does as she’s told. “I, Clarisse DuVency, hereby declare that any debts owed to me by-“, and she can’t really keep her voice steady after that, “a-any debts owed to me by Lysandra and Evangeline are now paid at full. At their earliest convenience, they may receive the Mark of their freedom. “

The paper drops on to the floor and Lysandra turns to look at Aelin, eyes wide and watering.

Aelin, to her credit, looks only a bit concerned. "He-ey now, haven't we cried enough for today already?"

And Lysandra swears that she almost loses her mind right then and there. “Do you know how much money- “, she starts to chide, but Aelin interrupts her.

“Did you really think I’d leave you enslaved to her?”

It’s a no brainer. Of course, she didn’t. But…she didn’t really think that Aelin would see to it, personally that she’d go free of her debts and it’s- it’s absurd, is what it is. It's fucking unreal. She shakes her head. “I don’t..I don’t know what to say to you. I don’t know how to thank you-“

“You don’t need to.”

Lysandra tries her hardest not to add to the dried tears on her face. She has to bite her lip to keep her composure. For that amount of money...for her freedom, and Aelin didn't even bat an eye. 

The word 'worried' is written all over Aelin's face (as Lysandra's will to try and hold the tears wasn't as much of a steel wall as she liked to believe), but despite that there's a teasing undertone to her words as she laments, “I’m sorry if you wanted to do the proud and noble thing and stick it out for another decade, but you have to understand that there was no fucking way I was going to leave without-“

“Shut up, Aelin…just shut up, for once in your life.”

Aelin does, but the look on her face speaks more than a thousand words ever could.

Lysandra finds that she’s more than content with that.

-

The next time they encounter each other under somewhat normal circumstances, it’s a gag.

“Yo-you actually threw up on Lorcan fucking Salvaterre I can’t-oh my god-“

It’s a gag. A superior one.

That’s what Aelin seems to think, at least. For Lysandra, it’s nothing short of mortifying. “By the gods, stop laughing! It was horrible!” she damn near shrieks in her out-rage.

It does little to help Aelin, who’s still hunched over herself, laughing with tears in her eyes. She’s straight up wheezing and Lysandra tries, tries her hardest really, but despite her efforts can’t manage to hide her own, small smile. She knows that Aelin catches it too, because her laughter only gets louder and louder with no signs of it stopping anytime soon.

Lysandra rolls her eyes. “Aren’t you still bed-ridden? Are you sure you should be snorting that much?” she finally questions, fixing Aelin with a stare.

The queen had just almost died trying to save a kingdom, a prince that were not her own, after all. Had almost burned herself out, completely. And despite everything, Lysandra had been – and still was, quite concerned about her.

Aelin, however, only snorts, her laughter finally dying down, though she’s still clearly amused. “You’re starting to sound like all those fae ones in there", she points to the door of her chambers, where Rowan and Aedion were still hovering about.

Lysandra grins at her, a wild thing of animalistic grace as she allows her human ears to morph into pointed ones and fangs peek out of her mouth, much like the ones on Rowan that she had so adored.

Aelin blinks and for a moment, Lysandra is afraid. Afraid that maybe, maybe even that person who declared her a part of her court in front of Adarlan’s people, who accepted her with open arms would take it all back.

That despite her promise, she would turn her back and reject Lysandra, after all, seeing just what kind of being it was, always had been, hiding in her skin.

But instead, Aelin just throws back her head and laughs. “Y-yo-you’re so fucking ridiculous”, she wheezes.

And it nearly shatters Lysandra’s heart in two, that joyful, obnoxious laugh. The unspoken acceptance it gives her, the unspoken promise that it repeats.

So as much as had happened, much as they both had been through, Lysandra allows herself to laugh along with Aelin, to find comfort in this moment of belonging somewhere, to someone.

She doesn’t think about what’s to come next, yet. She will, eventually, but not right now.

For now, she just lets it go and laughs.

-

The next time and the last time changes things and shifts the tides between them to the point of no return.

And of course, it starts off with that damned face, again. Aelin's face, turned into that expression of need, _want_ , when Lysandra drops the last bits of the stuff from her apartment and asks if there's anything more that she wants from her - and of course, there is.

There's always something more with Aelin.

But before Lysandra can inquire about it further, Aelin shuffles with herself and digs through her pockets before pulling out a small box.

She fumbles with it for a moment and then that look is there. That fucking look.

“There’s still one more thing”, she then states, handing the box towards Lysandra. "You’ll probably hate me for it later. But you can start by saying yes.”

Lysandra looks at her, then the box. Then back and forth.

Aelin looks like she's nervous. Really nervous.

The box sits there on her hand and before she can argue with herself further, Lysandra reaches for it.

It’s small in her hands, impossibly so. It’s small, much like a…much like the boxes Lysandra often had witnessed her clients putting away whenever she made a visit.

Her married clients.

“Proposing to me? How unexcepted", she teases (all the while trying her hardest to convince herself that yes, she is teasing and yes, this is a joke, a very funny joke).

Aelin only shakes her head in amusement and makes a dismissive motion with her hand. “Just open it.”

Lysandra quirks her brow, but she does open the small box, her own curiosity winning her over.

And low and behold, there’s a gold ring inside the small box. Lysandra has to take a moment to gather herself again, and it’s a while before she can even form a comprehendible sentence again.

And when she does, she only manages to dig herself into a deeper hole. “Are you seriously proposing to me, Aelin Galathynius?”

Aelin seems to relax, finally looking less of a nervous wreck. "Not directly, no. But you may interpret it as you will”, she shoots right back.

Lysandra rolls her eyes (convinces herself not to flush or anything of the sort) but despite herself, she picks up the ring and observes it.

There’s a …what she assumes to be a snow leopard carved into it, she’s not sure. She’s never really seen one and she can’t really remember that day of the battle so clearly either, when she was one. There’s a beautiful key design above the carved leopard, too.

It does little to explain anything, and she shoots Aelin a puzzled look.

Aelin only hums, answering the unspoken question with a question of her own. "Say, how would you like Terrasen, Lysandra?"

Lysandra is rendered void of anything intelligent to say, so she goes with “What?”

Aelin grins, like a partner in crime. “You see, there's a fertile patch of land, down in the north. Aedion took it upon himself to inform me, that while it formerly used to belong to the Allsbrooks, they let it go some time ago. It's been void of a ruler since."

"What are you suggesting, exactly?"

Aelin's grin only widens. "It could use a lady to rule. And as Terrasen's next queen, I have the power and influence to name you as it's Lady and Evangeline as your heir, should you will it so."

Lysandra’s jaw drops open. She can’t – Aelin can’t be offering what she thinks she is offering, can she?

“The place is fiddled with ghost panthers – hence the carving of the ring.”

She can. She is. By the gods, she is.

“But I think if anyone’s capable of taming them, it’s you.”

By the gods. Aelin is offering her a home, a place to find- to build something.

Aelin is offering her a place by her side, for real. Lysandra knew, had heard the queen declare her a part of her court with her own ears, but she didn’t think about what that even meant back then, she certainly didn’t think it would mean something like this. Something so-

“How- what about the key design above the leopard?” Her voice shakes, with more tremor than she would’ve liked.

If Aelin takes a note of it, she doesn’t bring it up, only answers her question. “It’s to remind you of who now holds the keys to your freedom. You, yourself."

Lysandra’s jaw drops even further (not that she’s sure it’s even possible at this point). “Are you insane?” she hisses, her gaze flying from the ring to Aelin and from Aelin to the ring.

Aelin merely smiles. “Many might think it so. But this is a serious offer, from me to you.”

She doesn’t ask if Lysandra wants it, wants that title or the ring. She’s just looking at her, that smile on her face and Lysandra only barely catches the shine of that familiar need, want in her eyes. She wants Lysandra to come with her.

But she doesn’t ask for it, doesn’t voice it, even when it’s so painfully clear, she doesn’t hint to anything of the sort. True to her word, she was making it clear that despite her wishes as Terrasen’s queen, the keys were still in Lysandra’s hands.

The choice was entirely hers to make.

Lysandra’s legs give out and she falls, the box clattering along with her.

It’s…a lot of emotions all at once and everything’s a little hazy and she honest to god feels like room is spinning and there are many, many things that she wants to tell Aelin but she can’t quite manage to catch her breath and then-

And then Aelin’s there, and she looks a little anxious, sounds very anxious, as she tries to comfort, to persuade her. “I know it’s a lot of work, but-“

“I don’t deserve this.”

Aelin quiets down.

“No one will ever want to serve me as a Lady. Your people will despise it, if you name me.”

The floor looks like it’s tilting and Lysandra can’t seem to get a grip on herself, can’t seem to stop the words for coming out her mouth.

Because it’s a real concern, a real fear: just because Aelin was Aelin, just because Aelin had welcomed her with open arms, didn’t mean that Terrasen – or its people, for that matter, would.

Worst case scenario, it might just cost Aelin her reputation, if she were to do such a thing. If she were to grant someone like Lysandra the title of a Lady.

And then, as if sensing her concerns, Aelin kneels in front of her to the floor and reaches, grabbing the ring from her shaking hands. Lysandra almost opens her mouth, almost begs for her to take it back, to take everything she said back and shove that ring up her ass, that familiar fear creeping up into her heart once again.

But alas, of course Aelin does the exact opposite, and cradles Lysandra’s hand in her own as gentle as ever and slips the ring on her finger.

She sweeps her fingers over Lysandra’s knuckles and slowly, as if not to spook her, brings her hand to her lips and presses the lightest kiss imaginable there.

“You, more than anyone else, deserve this”, she insists and _gods_ if it doesn’t take every ounce of Lysandra’s will to not melt under the premise of those words. “I wouldn’t want anyone else to guard my back. If my people can’t see the value of a woman who sold herself off to slavery for the sake of a child and defended my court and me within an inch of her life, then they’re not my people. And they can all go to hell.”

Lysandra exhales and gives up. She’s at a loss for words once again, can’t think of anything to say that could possibly tell Aelin how much those words mean to her. So, she merely strokes her ring and absentmindedly asks, “What is that place called?”

“No idea.” Aelin shrugs. “I like the sound of ‘Lysandria’. Or ‘Lysandrius’ or maybe ‘Lysandra land’.”

Lysandra shakes her head, amused but relenting. “You truly are insane, aren’t you?”

“Will you accept my proposal?”

Lysandra almost flushes at the choice of words but manages to hold it and seriously considers it. Considers it, a life on Aelin’s side, a life in Terrasen. What it’d be like. “I don’t know anything about ruling over lands – or about the life of a lady”, she finally admits.

 _I don’t know anything about this – about you and me, about us_ , was the part she couldn’t quite bring herself to say out-loud, not now. She was…a little afraid of what it would make this – make them.

“I don’t know anything about ruling over a kingdom, either. We can learn together.”

Lysandra looks up at her. Aelin grins, offering a hand for her to shake. “So how about it?”

Lysandra looks at her. And then back to her ring, the leopard, the key.

And then she bounces, embracing Aelin tightly as she can, burying her face to the crook of her neck. Aelin lets out a surprised gasp and Lysandra has to squeeze just a bit harder, to hold on. After some careful hesitation, Aelin returns her embrace and – she’s so warm, Aelin is so warm and it feels like being enveloped by the wildfire that dwells in her veins.

It almost burns.

Lysandra squeezes tighter, burrows herself into that warmth and tries to hold back her tears. She’s cried enough since they found each other again: she wasn’t about to ruin this moment by crying, too.

And as if on a cue, she feels Aelin grin against her skin and for a moment, there’s a burning by her neck and she swears that just for one, fleeting moment, Aelin kisses her there and it _actually_ burns.

But it’s still so, so feather light and the sensation is gone before Lysandra can even be sure it’s even happened and then Aelin speaks up again, and she sounds so, so overjoyed and happy that Lysandra finds herself forgetting about it almost entirely.

“Welcome to the court, Lady Lysandra.”

The fire in Lysandra’s veins crackles in response and it burns, so much brighter than it’s cheap mirroring from that time that was long, long ago – and Lysandra decides that yes: yes, this is much better than that bittersweet hate ever was. 

**Author's Note:**

> You cannot. and will not convince me that Lys throwing up on Lorcan wasn't like the funniest shit ever like that scene is in my top five scenes of all time and i think we collectively as a fandom need to appreciate it more bc that's cOMEDY GOLD !!! 
> 
> Thank u for reading, if u made it this far <3 also feedback is always welcome


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